


If You Look for the Light

by Jaina_Pridemoore



Series: If You Look for the Light [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Airbending & Airbenders, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodbending (Avatar), Dragons, F/F, Fire Nation Politics (Avatar), Firebending & Firebenders, Intergenerational Trauma, Lesbian Character of Color, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Sandbending & Sandbenders, Slow Burn, Southern Water Tribe, Sun Warrior Avatar, Sun Warriors - Freeform, Worldbuilding, Young Iroh redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaina_Pridemoore/pseuds/Jaina_Pridemoore
Summary: It has been fifty years since Avatar Aang gave his life to save his brothers.Thirty years since Avatar Tafsut emerged from the Desert to unleash their wrath upon the invaders.Fifteen years since they dealt the Fire Nation a blow it will never forget, bringing the war to a bitter stalemate—  and since Fire Lord Azulon, driven half-mad by failure, began his hunt for the fire-born Avatar, intent on forging them into a weapon of conquest.Ten years since Hama of the Blackfish Tribe was dragged away in chains.Less than a month since she escaped, and followed the call of the tides away from vengeance… toward the one island Azulon never thought to search.
Relationships: Azulon & Iroh (Avatar), Female Sun Warrior Avatar/Diasporic Airbender Girl with Questionable Ethics, Hama & Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: If You Look for the Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960024
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "If you look for the light, you can often find it... but if you look for the dark, it is all you will ever see."  
> — Iroh

Zeltzín was eight when she realized. 

She was sitting outside the smokehouse, leaning on her tatli’s shoulder and watching colors dance in the cookfire as he and the other men breathed it bigger and bigger. The drinking gourd made another round, and Zeltzín scowled, because she was  _ better  _ with fire than all the other kids, but no, somehow fire _ water  _ was different, and only for grown-ups. She almost said so, but didn’t want to get pinched. 

And then the men were talking about their dreams, and she didn’t care so much about the firewater anymore, because she was noticing something. 

They only dreamt things that had seen on the Island or heard in the Stories. 

But Zeltzín had never seen a city like the one in her dreams, with its red wood and sloping roofs—  _ or  _ heard of it. And she knew that the people in her darkest dream were Winterfolk, from their dark skin and blue eyes, but she’d never seen or heard of a room made of metal. 

Or a place where the land that went on forever, with no treetops or old temples between sandy earth and starry sky.

Or pale grey eyes just as kind as they were sad. 

Or flying red lanterns big enough to ride in, and the choking fear they brought with them. 

So the next day, when she was done helping Inna with the hides, Zeltzín asked Sage Tuong about it. 

That was the first time someone gave her the Look. 

The first time she  _ remembered,  _ anyway. 

She was so busy trying to figure out what that look  _ meant _ that she didn’t actually catch what he said— but she remembered feeling disappointed, so it was probably one of his  _ proverbs _ . 

The next person to give her the Look was her Inna, when Zel asked why she had to sit around learning Firespeak  _ and  _ the Trade Tongue. It was there and gone in a blink, that time, and Inna smiled, and just said she’d need it one day, when she went out into the world. 

That made Zel so excited that she forgot about the Look for a while. When her first lesson with Merchant Quyet was over she asked him if he’d ever seen a city of red wood and sloping roofs, or a land that went on forever, or kind old men with grey eyes.

That was the third time she saw the Look. And then Merchant Quyet took her tatli aside that night, and they spoke too quietly for her to hear— and Zeltzín began to suspect that there might be a secret, behind the Look. That they all knew something, and they weren’t telling her. 

But then she was ten, and Tatli started teaching her to hunt, and Quyet brought back as many stories from his voyages as he did metal tools and spices, and he would only tell those stories in Firespeak, so she had to really pay attention. He spoke of dozens of little islands, and the people who fished and farmed there. They were pale of skin, he said, even the ones who worked in the fields and paddies, and they did not mark that skin with their achievements. He said they were distrustful at first, because Quyet did not look like them, but when they saw the amber in his eyes, and the orange of his flame, they became friendly and curious. He spoke of it like a game, how he charmed their stories out of them without letting on who he truly was, or where he was truly from. How sometimes he did have to lie, but that was okay, because nothing was as important as staying secret from their Warlike Cousins. Then, of course, Zel asked about the Warlike Cousins, and what  _ exactly _ made them so bad, and Quyet looked away, and told her to ask her parents. 

Her parents told her to ask Chief Temoc. 

Chief Temoc told her to ask the Sages. 

The Sages said it was not a story fit for a child— and Zeltzín frowned, and her inner fire burned hot, but she hadn’t mastered the Dances (yet) or gone Hunting, so she held her tongue. 

It was another four years before Tatli thought she was ready for her Hunt. She learned to stay downwind of a quarry, how to smoke it out with tightly controlled flame, and where to put her arrows to kill quickly, and without too much suffering. 

Tatli taught her how to smoke the meat and mix the fat with nuts and berries to make pemmican. Inna taught her how to treat the hides, and how to make things from them. Uncle Huy taught her how to carve the bones into knives and spearheads, and Auntie Tlaco showed her how to make beads and earrings and necklaces, so that she could honor the sacrifices of her prey forever, and so people could know her prowess as a hunter just by looking. 

Every morning she meditated, attuning herself to her inner flame. Every day at noon she Danced, burning the movements into her spirit as Agni’s light stoked her inner fire and challenged her body. 

Once a fortnight, she sat beneath the stars and held a flame in her palm for as long as she could. 

But it was the Mark of the Hunter that she earned first. 

On the twenty-fourth day of the eighth month of her fourteenth year, Zeltzín stumbled back into the village, back bent and aching beneath the weight of an adolescent boarcupine. A cheer went up, and she let herself fall to one knee. 

That night they feasted, and Zeltzín found out why firewater very much  _ wasn’t _ for eight-year-olds, and Danced with half the village, but Nhang the fisherman’s daughter especially. 

When the sun next rose, she sat cross-legged in the Plaza of Agni, surrounded by hunters of the tribe, and breathed through the pain as Sage Tuong stabbed ink into her flesh. It felt…  _ odd,  _ fiercer than the occasional prick of a needle or thorn, but both duller and more precise than a training accident… 

And soon her inner flame was responding to it, somehow, a gently swelling warmth in her bleeding shoulder, and suddenly the needle didn’t sting so much. It felt— almost  _ good,  _ actually, not unlike the pleasant burn of hard work, but even more than that, it felt… familiar, somehow. Familiar and  _ right.  _

That night, she dreamed of gliding through the clouds, and when Agni rose, she woke with questions on her tongue. 

Sage Tuong welcomed her into the First Hearth with a sad smile, and bid her sit before the Fire. Sage Quynh and Sage Xatla joined them, forming a little semicircle in front of her. 

“Young huntress,” said Sage Tuong, “what can we do for you?” 

“I once asked you about our Warlike Cousins,” said Zel, “for I know they are the reason we must stay secret from the world, but no one has told me why.”

“And I told you it was not a story fit for children.” Tuong nodded. “And now you are a child no longer.” 

She bowed her head gratefully. 

“What have you heard?” He asked. 

“That they have forgotten the true spirit of fire,” she said. “But… not what that  _ means? _ I mean— not what the true spirit of fire means, but what it means to forget it.” 

She winced.

Tuong smiled, and it seemed happier this time. “What else?” 

“...that they’re warlike?” 

“But?”

“But we had wars, once, didn’t we?” 

“Yes,” said Sage Xatla, “long ago, when we were much more numerous.” 

_ “Too  _ numerous,” said Sage Quynh. “We reveled in the power of empire, and forgot that we are not purely beings of fire.”

Zeltzín nodded. Inner flame, blood, bones, and breath— it was one of the earliest and most-repeated lessons. 

“We took from the land and sea without any thought of balance. Our empire outgrew what the fields and tides could provide, and in desperation, we turned on each other. Like an unwatched flame, we burned out of control. Our ancestors learned from this, and abandoned the ways of empire to live in harmony with  _ all _ the elements… but their cousins continued to fight until they burned out, and the wisdom of their history burned with them.”

“They bloomed anew from the ashes, of course,” said Sage Tuong, “as all things do. But they have forgotten the Sacred Knowledge.” 

“And now…” Zeltzín wet her lips. “They’re doing it again?” 

Sage Xatla huffed. “They are doing  _ worse.”  _

What?

“I don’t understand.” 

“Forty-nine years ago,” said Sage Tuong, “Ulka, daughter of Agni, once more graced the world with her presence.”

Zel knew that— people still talked about the celebration. And a suspicious number of adults were  _ exactly  _ forty-nine years old, so. 

“With the power She granted them, our Cousins attacked the Air Temples.” 

Zeltzín almost gasped. 

It use such a blessing for violence— it was  _ obscene,  _ an abuse of Agni’s gift! 

“What—  _ why??”  _ she managed. 

“Greed,” said Sage Tuong, “and pride.”

“The ‘Fire Lord,’ their chief of chiefs, had long coveted the lands of his neighbors to the East, North, and South. Only the Avatar prevented him from seizing them by force. And then that Avatar died.” 

“I don’t understand.” Zeltzín glanced between them— “What does that have to do with…”

“That Avatar was fire-born.” 

...wait. 

“The next in the Cycle was a child of the winds… but the Fire Lord did not know which one.” 

Zeltzín’s stomach lurched. 

“So the Fire Lord burned them all.” 

She could almost smell the smoke, the burning flesh— 

“Breathe,” said Sage Quynh. 

She did. Deep and slow, in and out… 

Only when her heart and belly had calmed did they continue. 

“With no Avatar to oppose them,” said Sage Tuong, “our Cousins fell upon their neighbors like rabid animals— and ever since, they have spread across the world like wildfire, devouring all in their path.” 

Zeltzín saw the jungle engulfed in flame and felt the terrible heat— but then she blinked, and was still cross-legged on the ancient stones of the temple. 

“That,” said Sage Xatla, “is why we must remain hidden. If they ever learned of our existence, they would bring their war with them.” 

“What?” Zel blinked. “But— we’re all children of Agni, why would they make war on us?” 

“For the fruits of the jungle. For the ore that lies beneath it. For the fact that we do not live as they do, and do not serve their savage Lord.”

“They would force us to abuse Agni’s gift,” said Sage Xatla, “and they would kill those who refused.” 

“No,” said Zel, “the Masters wouldn’t let them. The Masters would  _ stop _ them.” 

The Sages fell silent. 

“...right?” 

Quynh and Xatla looked to Tuong. Tuong stared at Zeltzín. 

Then he let out a deep sigh, and told her. 

She didn’t remember running out of the temple, or across the Plaza. But she would never forget the fire she bent that afternoon— the crackling roar of it, the throbbing sting in her hands and feet, the way it left plants many meters away shriveled and smoldering… and the sick lurch in her gut when she realized she had been fueling it with rage. 

There were more than a few sleepless nights after that, for fear of what she might dream. There was also a lot of meditation. And proverbs. And lectures on the Source of one’s fire. 

She would come to appreciate it all later, of course— but at the time, it just felt like a mark of shame. 

It wasn’t until the new moon had come and gone that some of their  _ other  _ words resurfaced in her mind. 

_ With no Avatar to oppose them,  _ Tuong had said. 

_ What happened?  _ she lay awake wondering.  _ What happened to the next in the Cycle?  _

But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she didn’t ask. 

As it turned out, she didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The canon architecture and culture of the Sun Warriors seems to draw on both mesoamerican and ancient southeast asian civilizations, so I've drawn names both from Nahuatl and Old Khmer. Inna and Tatli mean 'mom' and 'dad' in Nahuatl. 
> 
> This is just the prologue— I'm planning to continue the story in my usual, more immersive style. 
> 
> Next: The Wounded Warrior


	2. The Wounded Warrior

**50 AG**

  
  
  
If anyone asked, Zeltzín would say she spotted unfamiliar tracks while hunting. 

Which… she _was_ hunting, in that she was _out here_ to hunt. Hunting included breaks. And ‘ _I sensed the jungle was disturbed’_ sounded a lot cooler than ‘ _I almost tripped over someone’s boat because I was too busy staring at the sea to watch where I was going.’_

So yes. Unfamiliar signs. Master huntress. Vigilance. 

Though speaking of signs… where were the footprints? The tides could’ve smoothed the sand around the boat, but all the way up the beach? 

Maybe they’d walked away _in_ the surf, for some reason? 

Zeltzín looked at the boat again. It was a simple carved-log canoe like Quyet’s, not at all like the iron-skinned monsters in his stories… but if those stories had taught her anything, it was that the Warlike Cousins were devious. 

And if her mystery voyager was taking steps not to be tracked… 

Zel’s heart thumped hard in her chest, and her inner fire flared. 

She unslung the bow from her back, mind racing. 

_If you can’t track, predict._

Whoever the canoe belonged to hadn’t left anything in it— so they’d gone to make camp. Maybe. 

This was the south side of the Island, so they’d come from the Summer Isles, and the villagers Quyet traded with had no _reason_ to come here… so this visitor must’ve come from even farther away. 

Freshwater. They’d be wanting freshwater. 

Probably. 

_Track the intruders, assess the threat, warn the tribe._

She turned back toward the trees, and started walking.

The boulders she’d passed a few hundred paces back put her not far from the Twisted Grove— and from there, it wasn’t far to the nearest creek. An outsider might wander, might get lost, but they’d find it eventually.

And she’d be there to watch them. 

Soon she passed out of reach of the sea breeze and into the thick, humid air of the jungle. She wove quick and quiet between gnarled trees and hanging vines, letting only the very tips of the ferns brush the skin of her legs so as not to make them rustle. Dancing the Prowl with her heart for a drum. As always, it felt wrong to avoid the rays of Agni’s light that pierced the canopy, but if this was some trick of the Warlike Cousins, she could _not_ be spotted. 

_Track the intruders, assess the threat, warn the tribe._

Iguana-parrots chirped back and forth overhead. Smaller birds fluttered through the branches, swift as arrows. Zeltzín ducked past buzzing gnat-swarms and leapt over rotting logs, footsteps all but silent on the rain-softened earth. She skirted the edge of the Twisted Grove with an arrow nocked but not drawn, and peered through a gap in the bamboo that surrounded it… 

Nothing. Just roots and ferns and dirt, undisturbed by anything heavier than a sugar glider. 

She closed her eyes, and focused outward until she felt Agni’s fire to her right. It wasn’t _quite_ yet midday, so that was east, and ahead of her was north. 

Could the Warlike Cousins do that, too? Or had that knowledge burned? The Sages were always so _vague_ about things. Zel knew there was only so much Quyet could find out without making his trading-friends suspicious, but… 

A tiger-monkey snarled in the heights, and shook the branches as it chased after something. 

Zel was a little proud of how she restrained herself from jerking in surprise. 

_Right. Creek. Northwest._

She took a slow, quiet breath, and slipped back into fireless dance— out of the bamboo, under a curtain of hanging flowers, across a fallen tree over a mossy gulley, around a root-choked lump of stone that might’ve been a wall a few thousand years ago—

—and almost tripped over the person sitting slumped against it. 

Zel tried to stop, but was already overbalanced, and had to somersault over the— the _woman,_ she saw as she rolled to her feet, drew her bow, aimed for the heart— 

And stopped. 

Sleeping. The stranger was _sleeping_ — and Zel saw no iron-skin or death-mask, just plain, too-loose red pants and a sleeveless tunic and skin so pale she found herself staring. 

Which… probably wasn’t that pale, if Quyet spoke true. Just paler than Zel’s own nut-brown, and that of the rest of the Tribe, but definitely not _moon-_ pale. She was a lighter brown, a brown that looked almost… _faded,_ somehow… 

And then Zel noticed how sharp her face was, all chin and cheekbones and dark shadows under her closed eyes. And how her wavy hair was frizzing out of its topknot, as if she had no one to oil or comb it for her, and no time —or energy— to do it herself. 

And how thin her arms were. 

And the scars that criss-crossed those arms like fine threads. 

Zeltzín couldn’t even guess her _age_ — she didn’t look any older than Inna, at first glance, but Zel had only ever seen _elders_ with cheeks so hollow and hair so dull. 

This was... not at _all_ how Quyet described the Warlike Cousins. 

The woman took a sudden, deep breath, features creasing in— pain, or discomfort, or _something,_ and Zeltzín stepped back, eyes darting to the knife-hilt poking out of her sash… 

But the woman’s head lolled sideways against the ancient stone, and her eyes stayed closed. 

Alright. 

So. 

_Maybe_ a Warlike Cousin, but not a soldier? And she had some lines on her face, faint around her eyes and mouth, but they weren’t quite _wrinkles,_ so… not old. Just ill. Maybe. Or… just not eating enough? For some reason? 

Zeltzín lowered her bow. 

The woman twitched, the too-thin fingers of one hand curling into claws for a moment before relaxing.

Zel could probably get closer, without waking her— and if she got close enough she could touch her, and if she touched her she could feel for an inner flame and know if she was a firebender or not… 

But the knife. The scars. The hollow cheeks. The _tension_ in her, even as she slept… 

Zeltzín chewed her lip. 

_Maybe_ this was a ‘Cousin. Maybe she served their Fire-lord, maybe she was dangerous… 

But she looked like she was _running_ from something. She wasn’t here to hunt or discover. 

She needed _help._

Zel looked over the stranger’s supplies— a lumpy, threadbare satchel sat beside her, several thick, capped-off pieces of bamboo sticking out of it, a dark metal canteen with the three-pronged flame stamped in red upon it, lying inches from her twitching fingers… 

No bow. No arrows. No spear. 

Well. 

Zel _did_ come out here to hunt. 

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


By the time she got back, bow slung over one shoulder and a pythonaconda over the other, Agni had begun his descent into the west. 

The woman had slumped sideways off the wall, and was curled up beside her pack, wild hair veiling her face— but Zel could still see one of her eyes, and it was closed.

She didn’t wake as Zel unrolled her oilcloth and set about skinning the beast. 

Or as Zel came and went again to gather sticks, leaves, and logs. 

Or as she arranged those parts just so, and gently pushed flame into the center, and sat in lotus position and breathed strength into that flame. 

The jungle had just begun to dim, Agni’s light slanting gold-orange down through the canopy. 

When the beast hung on a spit over the fire, Zel reigned in her chi, and let her focus drift back to the stranger she was cooking for. 

It was the hair that made her wonder. 

Quyet said that most people of the Summer Isles had hair as sleek and black as that of the Tribe, but now that she really looked, the woman’s hair was a very dark brown— and it was _thick_ in a way she’d never seen, and frizzy in a way she didn’t know hair could be, and had _waves_ to it. Zel wondered what it would feel like under her fingers. 

The smell of roasting meat began to fill the air, and the stranger stirred, hands twitching and face creasing. Zel’s inner flame flared, but she held herself still. 

Then something in the fire _popped_ , and the woman’s eyes snapped open. 

They were blue-grey like a stormy sea, wide as they found the fire— and _cold_ when they found Zeltzin. 

Before Zel could even open her mouth, the stranger rolled sideways into a crouch, one arm shooting out in a high arc. Years of Dancing shoved Zel up onto her feet, into her stance, and she faltered when no fire came at her—

‘Til something flashed overhead. 

She threw herself to the side, somersaulted back to her feet— 

—and stared. 

Water. 

Water _streamed through the air_ where her head had been, reflecting the light of both fire and sunset as it followed the fluid, swaying sweep of the stranger’s arms in a wide circle around her and flashed _forward_ — 

Zel dropped into a crouch just in time for something to _whoosh_ overhead and _thud_ into a tree-trunk behind her but stopped herself from turning to look because the stranger was _glaring_ at her like she was a— a wild _tigerdillo_ or something—

 _“Hey!”_ Zel shouted, “what is your—” 

Then she noticed the ferns. 

Every leaf and frond that sprouted from the cracks in the wall was withered, dry and brown and dead, and as she stared the woman swayed into another turn and _pulled_ more water out of the undergrowth—

—and sort of— _spiraled_ her hands together and the water followed, pooling in the air before her and twisting and paling and _sharpening_ into three shining spearheads—

And Zel realized. 

_She’s trying to_ _kill_ _me._

The blades flashed forward but Zel was already twirling out of the way. She met the stranger’s glare with her own, breathed deep, bared her teeth, and growled out a warning plume of fire. 

The woman _jolted,_ stumbled a half-step back, and for the briefest instant Zel saw pure, wild _terror_ in those blue-gray eyes—

And then her teeth were bared, too, and those eyes were _furious._

Zel barely dodged the next three spearheads. She somersaulted again, leapt into a sprint, and flung a burst of flame over her shoulder on her way to the nearest tree-trunk. 

Only when she was half-crouched behind it did she notice the throbbing sting in her bicep. She breathed out against the pain, looked down, and saw red. No— _blood_ , trickling from a long, open cut, bright and hot on her skin— 

A waterbender. Why was a _waterbender_ —? 

A glint in the undergrowth. 

Zel breathed in and _pushed_ out _._ Fire burst from her palms and met the stream with a loud _hiss,_ filling the air with steam. 

Steam that _blocked her line of sight._

She slammed her palms together over her fire chakra, breathed deep, and swung both arms low to high, bending great wings of flame at her sides as she blew out another burning plume— 

—creating more steam _way_ too close to her face. 

Then she dove and rolled sideways, roots and stones biting into her back, sprang up, twirled flame-wreathed back into the clearing— 

And found it empty. 

She dropped into a coil-stance, ready to spin in any direction, arms extended and hands dragon-clawed. 

Waiting. 

Her inner fire burned hot just under her skin, swelling with each slow, controlled breath. The cut on her arm throbbed. 

The cookfire crackled beside her. The meat sizzled and popped. 

The jungle around her was still.

 _“Listen,”_ Zeltzín said in Firespeak— and then hesitated, wondering if a waterbender would even _understand_ Firespeak, and trying to figure out what to even say to this woman and how to say it in Trade— 

And then all the ferns around her shriveled. 

It was like rain falling _up,_ gathering into a dozen thin streams that all swirled together and circled her like an eel on the hunt, ready to strike the instant she moved.

 _“Listen,”_ said Zel, in Trade this time, _“we need not—”_

Leaves brushed against cloth. 

Zel spun up onto the balls of her feet, bending a shroud of flame around her, and snapped a whirling talon kick toward the noise. The eel coiled in on itself, swallowed the attack, and sprang away from the burst of steam in two streams, both of them rushing forward— 

And Zel couldn’t tell her they _didn’t need to fight_ because she needed all her breath to not _die_ — 

She met both streams with blinding bursts, just _barely_ ducked under the water-spears that followed, sent a fireball back the way they’d come— 

Then she was sprawling sideways, jarring her shoulder on the damp ground, breath knocked out of her by whatever just _slammed_ into her side. 

She sucked in as much air as she could, shoved the ground away and rolled sideways just in time to avoid three downward-stabbing water-spears, scrambled to her feet and raised her fists and snapped them down, sending a ring of fire crackling out in all directions. She sank into a low cat-stance, one hand loose over her fire chakra and the other dragon-clawed before her, doing her best to ignore the sting in her arm and the hot blood dripping from it and the throbbing pain in her side— 

_There!_

The streams spun together and poured down, dousing the flames before they could reach the stranger’s feet, and rose up again to circle again, this time around the woman bending it. 

The woman _glaring_ at Zeltzín like _she_ was the one trespassing— and throwing sharp objects at people! 

_“What,”_ Zel shouted, _“is your_ **_problem!?”_ **

And the woman _flinched._

She stepped back, too, and droplets fell from the water she was bending, and her eyes snapped wide again—

—reflecting the suddenly _huge_ cookfire. 

Oh. 

_Oh._

A waterbender. A scarred, half-starved waterbender that was _afraid of fire…_ and had just come the domain of the Warlike Cousins. 

Zeltzín felt a little stupid, all of a sudden. 

And a little bit sick. 

Her own heart was pounding, she realized, slamming itself against her ribcage, and deep breathing wasn't doing much to calm it.

The stranger didn't look much better. Her gaunt face shone in the firelight, covered in sweat, her chest heaving and her arms trembling… and there was fear in her eyes. 

So Zel stepped back, too. 

She might not know what a waterbender was doing here, how she even _got_ here, or what she wanted… but she knew _spooked_ when she saw it. She knew the difference between a predator on the hunt and a creature that just wanted to be _safe._

She hoped she did, at least. 

Slowly, so as not to startle, Zeltzín rose out of her stance and held her hands up before her, empty and relaxed despite how hard her heart was pounding. 

Still the stranger circled her arms, almost like she was stirring a pot with no ladle, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. 

Zel wet her lips and breathed deep, wracking her mind for the words in Trade… 

_“No trouble,”_ she managed. 

The woman didn’t seem comforted by that. 

_“No… danger.”_

Blue-gray eyes flicked to the cookfire, and back to Zel, cold and hard once again. 

So Zel reached out —slowly, so as not to get _stabbed_ again— and subdued the flames with a wave of her hand. 

The clearing dimmed. Shadows settled into the hollows of the stranger's face, making her seem sharper and meaner. Soft beams of orange light pierced the canopy. Leaves and vines smoldered at the edges of the clearing, burned by her fire-ring. The smell of charred meat hung acrid in the air. 

In hindsight, it was a _very_ good thing it’d rained last night. 

She focused outward, and smothered those tiny flames as well. 

Then it was just her and the stranger in the fading light. 

Zel glanced at the pythonaconda . 

Or… what was _left_ of it, at least. 

She couldn’t see a single spot it hadn’t been burnt black. 

The stranger was still bending. And sweating, and breathing way too hard for how little water she was bending at this point. Maybe. 

Zel sat down, legs crossed, dug a rambutan out of her snack-pouch, and held it out for a moment while she remembered how to say

_“Hungry?”_

—in Trade. 

The stranger stared. 

_“Sorry, about… meat. Accident.”_

Glared. 

_Alright._

Zel chewed her lip for a moment, sent a silent prayer to Agni, and then tossed the fruit.

The woman snatched it out of the air, bending her ring of water into a blob with a swirl of her free hand. 

Zeltzín dug another rambutan out of her snack-pouch, then unsheathed one of her iguana-seal-bone knives, and cut into its leathery skin. 

The waterbender watched. Swirled her blob. 

Zel popped the fruit into her mouth and did her best to smile while chewing without being gross about it. 

The waterbender crouched without taking her eyes off Zel. Her free hand curled into— well, it _looked_ like a dragon-claw, and the blob went stiff and pale, and with a soft gesture floated down and settled on the ground like big, translucent stone. 

Zel chewed. 

The waterbender watched. She didn’t even _look_ at her own rambutan. Her free hand rested atop the hard water. 

As if _Zel_ was the dangerous one. 

Zel frowned, and turned to the still-smoking pythonaconda . She leaned forward, palming the no-longer-damp earth shifting her weight forward onto her knees. Then she shuffled over to the beast, flipped her knife blade-down, and stabbed into the charred flesh—

Which just made the bamboo spit snap. 

The beast fell into the pile of ash that had been her cookfire, and Zel’s cheeks burned. She glanced sideways, and paused at the sight of a tiny smirk on the waterbender’s lips. 

It… wasn’t a friendly expression. 

Zel looked away, and got to carving, feeling the stranger’s gaze on her all the while. 

Thankfully the charring was only a thin, hard crust, like a shell protecting the softer meat beneath it. The arms and legs were a loss, and even the claws had been made brittle by the heat of her frustration. Zel bit back her embarrassment, and hacked the ruined bits off. 

By the time she cut the charring away from the thickest parts, her hands were smeared with dusty black. She salvaged a long strip of dry-but-edible meat, and turned back to the waterbender— who was finally eating. The hairy skin of the rambutan lay in pieces before her, in her hand was that steel knife. 

It looked like one of the knives Quyet sometimes brought back. The ones he said the Warlike Cousins forged by the hundreds for their warriors. 

Zel glanced at the scars on the woman’s too-thin arms, and then away. 

“Here.” She held out the strip of meat. 

The stranger barely even looked at it. Blue-gray eyes flicked to the knife in Zel’s other hand, the Mark of the Hunter on her shoulder, the smooth bone rings in her ears… 

Zel frowned. 

The waterbender saw this, and narrowed her eyes. Her fingers twitched atop the water-stone. 

Staying still in front of someone who had just tried to kill you —and almost _succeeded_ — was a bit different from staying still to meditate or hunt, but Zel did it. 

Come to think of it, this was a bit like that story Uncle Huy told about tiger-monkeys stealing his kill. The staring and the tenseness, specifically. 

Zel would rather face down a tiger-monkey’s fangs than more of those water-spears. She knew what tiger-monkeys _wanted,_ and how to scare them off. 

She _might_ be able to scare the stranger off, with enough fire, but not without hurting the jungle— and even if there _was_ another way, outsiders who could not be avoided were to be killed. 

Just… outsiders had always meant Warlike Cousins. Not waterbenders. Not women who looked like they were after a good meal and a long rest instead of world domination. 

And yet were too afraid of fire to accept food from someone who could bend it. 

Zel held the woman’s gaze, and took a bite of meat. She carefully did _not_ make a face at the taste of ash. Chewed. Swallowed. 

The waterbender watched. 

Zel took another bite. 

Waterbender. Water _Tribe._ No— _Tribes,_ two of them, north and south. Which one was she from? Would Quyet be able to tell? 

Would she answer, if Zel asked? 

That hard gleam in her eyes said _no._

But then the waterbender’s free hand lifted off the water-stone, and fell idle at her side as she stood. 

Zel didn’t move, except to chew. 

The water-stone stayed… stony. And still. Its ‘bender walked a long semi-circle to the other side of the dead cookfire, never taking her eyes off Zel. 

Then she crouched again, knees popping, and _finally_ looked away to carve into the pythonaconda. 

Zel ate the last bit of the strip she’d cut, and tried to not to stare. 

_What_ **_happened_ ** _to her?_

The Sages said that the Water Tribes were months away by the swiftest boats. They said the ‘Cousins made war against the world, and yet… 

Oh. 

_With no Avatar to oppose them,_ Tuong had said. 

Because the airbenders were gone. Which meant the next in the cycle, the one the Sages knew nothing of, would be born into… 

Zel’s heart thudded in her chest, and she gave up trying not to stare— at the sharp face, the hard look in those stormy-sea eyes, the hands that had nearly _killed_ her—

But… had only bent water. Even though she looked _terrified_ of fire, and probably thought that she was… defending herself. 

Alright, so now Zel felt like a jerk for getting angry. 

_“What?”_

Zel almost jumped. 

The woman was glaring at her again. And she’d _spoken,_ finally, and Zel was right about using Trade instead of Firespeak—

 _“I—”_ Zel swallowed to clear her mouth of meat— _“Are you…”_

Wings flapping. Leaves rustling. 

Both of them went very still. 

Then Tecolotl’s annoying teenage-boy voice shattered the silence. 

_“Zeltzín! Is that you?”_

She glanced at the waterbender, saw knuckles gone white around the hilt of her knife, a muscle tensing in her jaw, her free hand opening toward the water-stone—

Zel dropped her knife, and held up both hands— but the waterbender was already standing again, sinking shakily into a stance—

 _“No!”_ Zeltzin whispered in Trade, _“Please, it_ ’s… _friend. My…”_ spirits, she _really_ should have paid more attention to Quyet’s lessons— _“Mother’s… sister’s… child?”_ Wait, no. _“Son! Her son.”_

And maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Zeltzin _thought_ she saw a glimmer of curiosity in the woman’s cold gaze—

 _“Zel!”_ Teco’s voice was closer now, approaching from the east, and the waterbender turned towards it, hand still held out toward the water-stone… but then she glanced at Zeltzin, eyes darting over her and that was _definitely_ curiosity, Zel was sure—

“Zel! _There_ you are, what have—”

Tecolotl stopped mid-stride, a spot of earthy brown amidst the green— and for an instant, Zel saw him through the eyes of a stranger. Taller and broader than either woman, brawny limbs and torso bared by his hunting clothes, a machete on his hip and a look of alarm in his eyes as he spotted the waterbender—

“Wait!” She held up a hand. “Just— hold on, I’m trying to talk to her.”

 _“Talk_ to—?” Teco glanced between them, hand straying toward his blade. “Zel, you know… the…”

He trailed off, and Zel frowned, following his gaze to… 

Oh.

To the bleeding cut on her arm. 

_“What happened??”_ He snapped into a cat-stance, twin flames igniting in his palms—

“Teco, **_stop!”_ **

Her voice rang loud through the jungle, startling birds from their perches. The stranger flinched. Tecolotl stared. 

She never _had_ yelled at him like that, had she? 

“Zel,” he said carefully, _“what_ is going on here?”

“Teco, just… look at her for a minute.” 

He did, amber eyes flicking over her ratty sandals and too-loose clothing and gaunt face, lingering on the unfamiliar color of _her_ eyes—

“Do you see steel-skin?” Zel asked. “Or a death-mask?” 

His jaw flexed. He did not rise from his stance, or extinguish his flames. “Could be a trick. The Sages say they are honorless.”

“Teco… she’s a _waterbender.”_

He blinked. 

Stared. 

_Finally_ saw the water-stone sitting beside the woman. 

“She… _what?”_

“She’s a waterbender! She pulled the water right out of the undergrowth and bent it at me!” 

Zel turned to the stranger then, and switched back to her horrible, embarrassing Trade. 

_“Please,”_ she said, _“can you…”_ ugh, what was the word—? _“The water, can you show…?”_

The woman’s chest was heaving again, and she had barely moved except to glance between them. But mostly at Teco. Which made sense. He _was_ pretty big. And still in a stance. With fire in his hands. 

“Tecolotl.” Zel wasn’t used to using her serious-voice on him, and he wasn’t used to hearing it. That would have to be enough. _“Look at her._ She’s afraid of us.” 

His eyes narrowed. 

“I found her passed out here. On the _south side of the Island.”_

He frowned, brows furrowing thoughtfully… 

“She woke up to a stranger bending fire in front of her, and… I think she _panicked_ , Teco.” _And she still nearly killed me._ “I think she’s fought firebenders before… and I don’t think it went well for her.” 

Zel saw the moment he spotted the scars. Saw his flames shrink, just slightly, and saw a bit of the tension ease from his stance. 

Then the flames vanished, and his hands fell to his sides. 

The waterbender watched him for a long moment before she relaxed out of her stance as well. She was still breathing hard, still glancing between Zel and Teco like they were two hungry tiger-monkeys— and even as Zel tried to calm herself, she felt a deep, burning anger coaxing her inner fire hotter and hotter. 

What had her Cousins _done to this woman?_

“I, ah… ” Tecolotl put his hands on his hips, which made the waterbender tense, because they were right by his machete— “Zel. Go get the Chief.” 

She considered it, for a second— running off, passing this on to someone who would know what to do… 

But then she met the waterbender’s eyes again, and this time she couldn’t help but see the fear beneath that sharp, cold anger. Fear she’d managed to soothe, if only for a moment. Fear Teco’s big, brawny presence was stoking again— and if she lashed out again, even as weak as she was… 

Teco had a duty to the Tribe. 

“No,” she said. 

“Zel—”

“You go. I’m staying here.” 

“Zel, she _hurt_ you.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you to _look at her?”_ Zel crossed her arms and glared at him. “Why do you think we _weren’t_ fighting when you got here? She tired herself out. She can’t beat me now, and she knows it. And I just got her to sit down and eat, so... I _think_ she knows I don't want to hurt her, too?"

Maybe.

Deep breaths. _Control._

“Go,” she said. “I’ll watch her while you get the Chief.” 

Teco hesitated. Shifted his weight from foot to foot. Narrowed his eyes at the waterbender. 

“Go.” 

“Fine! But if she tries _anything_ —”

“Teco, I can Dance circles around you on a _bad_ day, I’ll be fine.” 

“Hey!” It was his turn to cross his arms and glower, now— but after the waterbender’s fury, it was… honestly kind of silly. 

“Do you want to have this argument again,” she said, trying not to smirk, “or do you want to go get the Chief to deal with the _stranger on our island?”_

Again he glared at the waterbender. 

The waterbender glared back. For such a skinny, exhausted-looking woman, it was really intimidating. 

Teco huffed, and dropped his arms. 

Then _he_ smirked at Zel. “I guess you _will_ need somebody whose Trade Tongue isn’t _awful,_ huh?”

“You— you don’t even _speak_ it!” 

“Yeah, and? You _barely_ do—” 

“Teco. _Please_ just get the Chief.” 

Another grumpy look, at her and the waterbender in turn. Another huff. 

“...fine,” he said, and slipped back into the jungle. 

Zel took a deep breath. 

Of all the times for him to be his stubborn self—

Ugh. 

Movement. 

She glanced over to see the waterbender swaying where she stood, and stepped forward to help— only to be pinned by a glare as sharp as those water-spears. 

So instead she backed up, and sat down by the ruined cookfire. 

The woman followed, this time not hesitating to carve into the pythonaconda and stuff ragged slices into her mouth. It reminded Zeltzin of Teco after a day of Dancing. 

She only realized she was smiling when the waterbender stopped mid-chew to stare at her. 

She looked down. Found her knife, and picked it back up. 

For a long few moments, there was only the quiet sound of metal and bone slicing meat, the distant trilling of birds, and the quiet rustle of the breeze. 

Zel swallowed with a wince. She’d _really_ dried this thing out. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ she said at last, hoping her pronunciation wasn’t too awful. _“For… scare you. With my fire. Had I known…”_

She glanced up, and fell silent. The stranger’s gaze wasn’t kind. 

Alright. A different path, then. 

_“I have never met a waterbender,”_ she tried. _“Or anyone from… not from here.”_ Ugh. _“We fight, but… I’m happy I meet you.”_ Ugh! **_“Met_ ** _you.”_

The stranger… wasn’t quite _glaring,_ anymore. She was still looking at Zel like Zel would at a tiger-monkey, but like… a friendly tiger-monkey? One that probably wasn’t going to bite you, but _did_ still have huge fangs? 

_“I, um.”_ Zel glanced down at the charred meat, and back up at the waterbender. Made herself meet that blue-gray gaze and hold it. _“I’m Zeltzín.”_

The waterbender chewed. Swallowed. Wet her chapped lips. 

And then at last she spoke, her voice rough and rasping: 

  
_“Hama,”_ she said. _“My name is Hama.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The Tale of the Cage


End file.
